I was born on February 3, 2007, in Bihar, India. My delivery didn't take place in a hospital; instead, it happened at my grandmother's house, facilitated by local women who were paid for their assistance. It's strange to think about this, especially considering that my grandmother was a high school principal. Yet, she was frugal when it came to spending money, particularly for my parents. When I was born, my family didn't express much happiness, even though I was their first child. The reason for their disappointment was that I was a girl, and they had hoped for a boy.
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Despite everything, I was lucky to receive love from my maternal grandparents. They made sure I lacked nothing in my upbringing. But love alone couldn't shield me from everything that was wrong.
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Since childhood, I struggled to speak. Words wouldn't form in my mouth like they did for other children. I started talking much later than I should have, and even when I did, I barely understood the world around me. Because of this, I fell behind-always one step slower, always a year behind kids my age.
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And then, as if fate hadn't already played its cruel hand, my grandmother decided to reveal a new side of herself. The milk that came for the household? It was hers. Not mine. Not for a child who needed it to grow. "Give your children rice water!" she'd scream at my mother. "But not a single drop of milk!"
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She was ruthless. A two-year-old drinking milk was enough to set her blood on fire. If I reached for it, her glare alone was enough to make my tiny hands freeze in place. I wasn't even worth a glass of milk in her eyes.
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My father worked in the Air Force, so we moved constantly. His first posting was in Telangana, where we stayed for two years, followed by Assam for one. By then, I had grown old enough to remember things-to truly understand what was happening around me.
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His third posting was in Punjab, where, at the age of five, I started school for the first time. I was placed in LKG, learning to interact with other children, finally experiencing a sense of happiness. For a brief moment, life felt simple. But as time passed, I began to understand my world more clearly.
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I didn't know how to talk to people. I didn't know how to eat properly. I didn't understand the complexities of life. But I was good at studying-maybe because I had no choice. I was taught through scolding, beaten into learning. Yet, at least I managed to get one thing right.
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But studies weren't everything. Whenever I played in the park, other women would approach my mother. They would whisper, their words laced with pity or disgust. "There's something wrong with her mind," they'd say. "You should put her in a special school. Take her to a doctor."
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I never heard these words myself, but I can't stop thinking about how my mother must have felt hearing them. Did she swallow her pain? Did she clench her fists in frustration? Did she ever cry when no one was watching? The thought makes my heart ache.
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By the time I turned three, my parents decided to have another child. Maybe they thought, So what if we didn't get a boy the first time? We can try again.
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But fate can be cruel.
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My mother gave birth to another daughter-at my grandmother's house, just like me. My father couldn't even be there; his leave was denied. And when my mother told him it was another girl, he took it the hardest. He didn't even rush back home. He came months later-by then, the weight of his disappointment had settled, numbing him.
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In our family, only my mother had two daughters. People laughed at her, mocked her. Two daughters? All your wealth will be wasted on them. My aunts and grandmother never missed a chance to remind her of what she lacked-a son. They made her feel that her life's greatest failure was bringing two girls into the world.
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But my mother never wavered. She looked them in the eye and said, "So what if I have two daughters? They will study, they will make me proud."
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Even today, I think about that. About how, in a house filled with disappointment and scorn, my mother never let anyone's words shake her. She carried the weight of everything alone-and never once let us feel it.
2 part
My childhood was always rough. I was never allowed to do what I wanted. There were too many restrictions on me—so many that even playing outside wasn’t an option. I was only allowed to go out for an hour in the evening, and even then, only under my parents' watchful eyes.
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During summer vacations, when all the kids would rush outside early in the morning to play, I’d watch them from my house. Sometimes they’d call me to join, but I wasn’t allowed. All I could do was stand by the gate or peek through the windows, listening to their laughter and the sounds of their games, feeling completely left out.
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I was sent to home tutors and coaching classes from a very young age. Until I was in first grade, I at least got to ride my cycle to class. But my teacher there was cruel. She would hit me, not because I misbehaved, but because I struggled to understand things quickly. Instead of teaching me with patience, she’d slap me—hard. My cheeks would burn red, my eyes filled with so many tears that I could barely see my notebook. But I had to keep writing, keep solving questions through blurry vision, because if I got another answer wrong, there’d be another slap. And they weren’t small slaps—they’d land right across my face, making my head jolt to the side.
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My parents didn’t care. It didn’t matter to them if I was hurt, as long as I studied.
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I remember one day when I was about seven. After finishing my coaching class, I was finally allowed to go to the park for a little while in the evening. My mom was there too, walking with another woman, deep in conversation. I was playing on the merry-go-round with some other kids. It was old, rusted, and broken on one side.
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We were spinning the merry-go-round as fast as we could. Some kids sat on it, laughing as they whirled around, while the rest of us pushed with all our strength, waiting for our turn. After getting it to full speed, we all knew to step back together so no one would get hit. But I wasn’t paying attention.
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I was distracted—terrified, actually. My eyes kept flickering toward my mother. What if she saw me? What if she caught me playing like this? The thought alone made my stomach churn. And in that moment of fear, I didn’t notice the rusted, broken metal piece sticking out. It sliced right into my leg, just above my ankle.
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A sharp, choked scream slipped from my lips. I looked down, gripping my leg tightly, trying to stop the bleeding. But before the blood even came, something else oozed out—thick, white, and unfamiliar. I had no idea what it was, but it terrified me. My body had reacted first, pushing out infection, dead cells—whatever it was, I didn’t care. All I knew was that the pain hit me next. And then, the blood came.
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It dripped. Everywhere I stepped, small dots of red marked my path. But I didn’t cry. Not because it didn’t hurt—it did. It hurts like hell. But because I was more afraid of what would happen when I got home. If my family saw this wound, I wouldn’t just be in pain—I’d be punished.
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So I ran.
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I ran as fast as I could, my leg throbbing with every step, leaving behind a trail of blood along the road. By the time I reached home, I was gasping, but I didn’t stop. I rushed to wash the wound, biting down on my lip as the water burned through my torn skin like fire. My hands trembled as I wrapped a towel around it, pressing down to stop the bleeding. Then, I hid. Curling up in a corner, shaking, watching as the blood refused to stop.
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And then, I looked up.
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My mother was standing there.
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Her face twisted with rage, her eyes burning as she took in the sight before her. But she wasn’t looking at my wound. She was staring at the bloodstains—on the bedsheet, on the towel, on the floor.
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"This girl has ruined everything!" she screamed. "She’s wiped her blood on the towel we use for our faces! Now we have to wash everything because of her!"
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And that was it.
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That was the moment I broke.
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Tears streamed down my face, my whole body trembling, not from the pain, but from the realization that even now, even like this, I didn’t matter. The mess did. The house did. But not me.
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And then, she grabbed a comb.
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And she hit me. Over and over. Hard enough to make my scalp sting, my hair yank at the roots, my skin burn. She didn't stop. Not even when the woman standing next to her—some random lady who had been chatting with her in the park—watched in silence. That woman, who could have stopped her, who could have said something, just stood there. Watching.
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When my mother was finally tired, when her anger had settled, when she had beaten me enough to satisfy whatever rage she held inside, then—only then—she called my father.
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Not because she was worried. Not because she cared.
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But because I needed a tetanus shot.
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I went to the hospital still crying, my whole body shaking from exhaustion, from fear, from pain. The doctor had to pull out the rusted metal from my leg, piece by piece, while I lay there, my face turned away so I wouldn’t see the needle.
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I didn’t need to.
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The pain was enough to remind me that it was real.
3 part
After finishing first grade with good marks, I was told we were moving—to Nashik, Maharashtra. The place sounded beautiful, full of greenery, hills, and so many places to explore, especially Mumbai. I was excited. I wasn’t sad about leaving; I was desperate to go.
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The night we left, after all our belongings had been packed and sent ahead, we boarded the train. I climbed onto the middle birth to sleep, but for some reason, I felt a lump in my throat. My eyes burned. I wanted to cry. Maybe I did love that place more than I thought. Maybe, despite the bad memories, I still had good ones too. Maybe I would miss my friends after all.
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But there was no turning back.
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A New Place, A New Beginning—Or So I Thought
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We arrived in Air Force Devlali, and it was beautiful. Lush green forests, towering hills, and the most perfect weather—never too hot, never too cold, with heavy, calming rains. I loved it. My parents, however, didn’t. They hated the jungle, the endless greenery, the insects, and worst of all—the snakes. Their fear was understandable, but I didn’t care. This was my fresh start.
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After settling in, my father took me to school for the first time. I was nervous. No, terrified. A new place, new people, unfamiliar faces. But I managed. I wasn’t scared of answering in class. I never hesitated to speak to teachers. And maybe that’s what made me stand out.
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Within a week, I became the class monitor. I was in second grade. It was my first time holding any kind of authority, and I was proud. My parents were too.
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But not everyone shared that feeling.
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The girl who had been the monitor before me hated it. She and her friends never spoke to me. Instead, they made sure no one else did either. Every day became a silent war. Every day was another fight. Every day, I sat alone.
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And the reasons?
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1. I was Bihari.
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2. I was better than them at studies.
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3. I was different—from the way I had food in my lunch , even the way I spoke.
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4. Language. A wall I couldn’t break.
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5. I was an Air Force kid. And they were civilians.
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No one wanted to befriend me. No one wanted to sit next to me. The only people I could even talk to were the other Air Force kids—and there were barely three or four of us.
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Among them, there was only one girl—Adiba.
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She was quiet. Had no friends. Wasn't even good at studies. But she was the only one I could play with. And when you have no one, even one person feels like a lifeline.
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The other girl—the one who had been the previous monitor—was also from the Air Force, but she hated me. She hated me so much that even her mother got involved.
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One day, her mom came to my house. She had no reason to, but she did. She wasn’t there to talk. She was there to fight.
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Another day, she did something worse.
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She called me to her house. So sweetly. So kindly. She acted like she wanted to talk, like she wanted to make peace. And like a fool, I believed her.
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But the moment I stepped inside, her mask dropped.
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She screamed at me. She scolded me like I was a criminal. I was so scared, so shaken, that I ran. I turned to leave, tears streaming down my face, and she stopped me.
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"Don't tell your parents I called you here."
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I should have told them. I should have.
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But I didn’t.
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I was so scared that if my parents found out I had gone to her house, I would be the one punished.
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So, I kept quiet.
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I swallowed it all—the fear, the humiliation, the loneliness.
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For three years—second, third, and fourth grade—I survived on one friendship. One quiet, distant companionship with a girl who wasn’t even my
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best friend.
And I thought, maybe that’s all I’ll ever get.
4 part
At the end of 4th grade, Adiba got transferred. It hit me hard—I felt awful. But what hurt even more was the realization that now, I’d have to find a friend among the very people I had always kept my distance from.
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By 5th grade, I was the class monitor. Four years in a row. Not everyone was happy about it. They hated how strict I was, how I never played favorites, never bent the rules. Maybe if I had friends, I would’ve let things slide sometimes. Maybe if I had someone, I wouldn’t have felt like an outsider in my own classroom.
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But I didn’t.
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So, I ruled alone. And they resented me for it.
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It started in 2nd grade. That’s when they first called me names—Fatty, Monster, trash , useless bitch . They laughed at me, mocked me, boys and girls alike. At first, it was just my class. But soon, it spread. Other sections joined in, like it was some sort of game. Even in the morning assembly, they found ways to torment me, whispering, giggling, making sure I never forgot what they thought of me.
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I tried to ignore it. I told myself their words didn’t matter. But by the time I reached 5th grade, everything got worse. I was alone now—truly alone. And they knew it.
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So, they got creative.
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Every morning, the moment I stepped into class, someone would grab my bag and throw it to the last bench—the farthest, the filthiest. And when they needed to clean their own dirty desks, they used my bag for it, wiping off the dust, the ink stains, whatever filth they didn’t want on their hands.
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I’d pick up my bag, covered in grime, and sit there, silent. Because what could I say? Who would listen?
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No one.
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And they knew that too.
Even after pushing me to the last bench, they still weren’t satisfied. It wasn’t enough.
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Every single day, the torment continued. They threw crumpled paper at me, aiming for my head, my arms, my face. Trash—scraps of paper, pencil shavings, even food wrappers—would be tossed onto my seat before I could sit down. And the worst part? The boys had started enjoying it too.
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They stole my notebooks, scribbled on them, ripped pages out, or tossed them to the floor like they were worthless. My water bottle was never safe either—sometimes, they’d empty it, leaving me with nothing to drink. Other times, they’d mix red chili powder in it, laughing as they watched me gag and cough. And the most disgusting? Filling it with filthy bathroom water whenever I left the classroom, whether for games or just a trip to the washroom.
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Even my tiffin wasn’t spared. They couldn’t stand the idea of me eating in peace. So, I started eating alone, in a quiet corner, hoping to escape them. But they followed. They surrounded me, forming a mocking circle, taunting in Marathi, their words cutting deeper than I could admit.
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"Bhes kitna khayegi?" (How much will this buffalo eat?)
"Dekho kaise kha rahi hai, aise koi khata hai?" (Look at how she eats, who eats like that?)
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I didn’t even know Marathi at first. But slowly, I began to understand. Every insult. Every joke at my expense.
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Yes, I was overweight—by 6th grade, I weighed 60 kg. But I never let that bother me. It was them—their words, their cruelty—that made me feel like something less than human.
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Even after everything, I never said a word at home. I’d come back, quiet as ever, pretending nothing had happened. But at night, I’d bury my face into my pillow and cry—silent, muffled sobs—so no one would hear, so no one would ask.
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I tried complaining to the teachers a few times. Three, maybe four. But all they ever said was, "Ignore them. They’ll stop on their own."
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Ignore them? I had been ignoring them for four years. And nothing had changed. Nothing had stopped. If anything, it had only gotten worse. I told them because I couldn't breathe anymore, because I felt like I was suffocating. But none of them understood. None of them cared.
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Everyone loved the games period. The excitement, the freedom. But for me? It was the worst part of the day. Because I knew exactly how it would go—I sit alone under the tree, waiting for the bell to ring. Because if they saw me outside, they’d throw stones at me, mock me, humiliate me in front of everyone. I wasn’t welcome in their games. I never had been.
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So, I started playing with the younger kids instead. The little ones. They didn’t hurt me, didn’t laugh at me. The others saw this and laughed even more. "Look at her! Playing with the babies!" But I didn’t care. At least with them, I wasn’t an outcast. At least with them, I wasn’t nothing.
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School was just a routine. Get on the bus. Get off the bus. Survive the day. Repeat.
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But even the bus wasn’t safe. As soon as I got on, they’d gather outside, calling me names, shouting insults, making sure I heard them. And once inside? The stares. The whispers. Some even laughed openly. And I couldn’t even blame them. Maybe I was funny to look at.
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So, I did the only thing I could. I turned to the window, pulled the curtain across the glass, and shut them
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out.
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Ignored them.
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Just like I’d always done.
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5 part
After years of silently enduring the same drama, I was done. I had cried enough tears, suffered enough stares, and lived through enough humiliation. I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't keep pretending to be happy in front of people - not even in front of my own parents.
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That's when I decided: enough of trying to please them, enough of licking their boots. It was time to do something for myself - unapologetically.
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And just like that, I made up my mind. But of course, they didn't stop. The moment I entered school, they kept messing with me like always. I kept waiting for the lunch break, holding it all in, while they threw every insult they could in front of everyone.
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But not anymore.
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As soon as lunch break started, Siddhi - that girl who always harassed me - tried to hit me on the head. That was it. I grabbed her head and slammed it against the bench. Then I twisted her wrist and dragged her hand across a nail sticking out of the wood. Her fingers started bleeding.
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No one dared stop me. They were too stunned to move - maybe even enjoying the show.
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Later, my science teacher came and stopped us. She looked at me like I'd turned into a wild animal.
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But that day, for the first time in a long time... I smiled. A real, proud smile. One that came from deep inside.
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---
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That day, I had made up my mind — I was going to go home and tell my mom everything. I would ask her to get my section changed from B to A.
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On the bus ride home, I had already planned exactly what I’d say — clearly, confidently, without breaking down.
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But the moment I got home, I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even take off my bag. I just sat down on the sofa, looked at my mom… and tears started pouring out.
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She just stared at me, confused, and then I began telling her everything — through my tears, but as clearly as I could. I told her how they kept calling me names, how they bullied me, calling me "fat" and "buffalo." I told her I didn’t want to be in that class anymore — I wanted to switch sections.
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But instead of support, she looked at me angrily and said:-
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“You want to change your class just because someone is teasing you? Tomorrow you’ll say you don’t like your husband, should we change him too?”
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And that moment broke something inside me. I realized my tears meant nothing to her.
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She gave me the same old advice: “Ignore them. Stay quiet. Be calm.”
I just sat there in silence... because by now, my hope had already died inside me.
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Later, my dad came home from work. My mom told him everything, and he got really angry. He asked me what exactly had been happening.
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But the moment my dad started taking it seriously, my mom snapped. “You're going to change her section over such a small issue?” she said.
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That’s when my dad raised his voice and told her, “Be quiet. Let me try to understand her.”
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I told him everything — well, almost everything. The teasing, the insults, the humiliation... but not every little detail. If I had started pouring it all out, I might have broken again. So I held a lot of it in… and just stayed quiet.
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Because some pain doesn’t come out in words. It just sits deep inside, silently.
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That day, for the first time in a long while, I felt a little happy on my way to school. Because I knew — my dad was coming today. He was going to step in, stand by me, and finally... things might change.
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And he did come. Dressed in his Air Force uniform.
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The moment he walked in, all the teachers froze. Of course they were shocked — it’s not every day that someone leaves their duty just to show up uninvited to handle their child’s battle. And my classmates? They all shrank into their seats like scared little mice. Everyone knew exactly whose dad he was.
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My dad calmly spoke to the teachers, explaining everything I’d been going through. Then he placed his hand on my back, looked straight at my class, and asked:-
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“Who has a problem with my daughter? Come on, speak up.”
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The whole class went dead silent.
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Because I was the one suffering, and now they were the ones scared.
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Then he looked at me and said,
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“Tell me, who’s been bothering you?”
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And I started naming every girl who had bullied me. I didn’t mention the boys — because I knew if I did, the teachers would go after them with no mercy.
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One by one, the girls I named were called up and made to stand in a line in front of the blackboard. Their faces? Absolutely worth watching. Heads down, not a single one could even meet my dad’s eyes — let alone look at me.
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Then my dad calmly said,
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“Now you take it from here. I’m heading to the principal’s office.”
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This was back when we were in 6th grade — but the moment felt massive.
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And then, the teachers began. One by one, they started scolding the girls.
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“These are the shining examples of your class,” they said sarcastically,
“who thinks they’ve become too big to treat others like humans.”
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The class burst out laughing. Their own friends were now the joke.
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And me? I was just sitting there… smiling. Soaking it all in.
Watching them squirm, watching their ego shatter — it felt like a whole year’s worth of pain was finally being released.
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That day, I was happy. Genuinely. Because justice didn't just knock — it walked in wearing an Air Force uniform.
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***
6 part Now my class was changed and I was also put in A section and was very happy because there was unity in that class and everyone liked me. Here all the boys and girls used to play together and I got many good friends here, even the boys
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And from here starts a new turn of my life.
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This is that class where the boys and girls made me a fool and taught me abuses and would not even hit my friends on the ass from behind.
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Seriously, I had started watching porn in the 6th class. For the first time I saw it and mamma was outside on an evening walk and was drenched in sweat because the other aunties also could not see that we were not getting tired quickly
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And I, her daughter, was getting completely wet seeing the other's dick here. At that time I was completely unable to understand what to do with this feeling. I was so wet with this feeling that while walking there was a chipping sound.
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---
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This is how I kept getting involved in such mischievous and wild things. But back then, I had no idea about things like fingering or rubbing.
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They say good times don’t last forever—well, the same happened to me. A few months later, my posting came through, and I had to move to Bareilly, UP. Saying goodbye to the amazing friends I had made was heartbreaking. Even now, I miss that place so much.
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And then came a new chapter—my life in UP.
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I lived in a civil society because my parents didn’t like Air Force quarters. That’s why I used to cycle to school every day. The moment I entered 7th grade, things started to get interesting. Within a week, I had already shaken things up—so much so that even the class monitor was jealous. But honestly? I didn’t give a damn. I knew how to talk to people, how to hold my ground.
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What I didn’t know, however, was that girls here didn’t talk to boys. And then there was me—who only talked to boys. Of course, people had a lot to say about that. They gossiped behind my back, whispered rumors, and even said, "She should’ve been born a boy."
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But I? I just smiled and kept moving forward.
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:
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---
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One week later, I became the class monitor.
I had won over all the teachers, and life was set.
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I still remember that before I started cycling to school, I used to go by van. And in that van, there was this one boy—an Army School kid. Fair-skinned, a little chubby, and those greenish-hazel eyes… yeah, he was my crush.
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Seriously, I used to wait for him—just so we could get a few minutes to talk. But guess when we actually started talking? During our final exams in 7th grade. And even then, our exam dates were different.
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Before that, I had spent months sitting in silence like an idiot in the van, too shy to say a word. But I still remember our last conversation. We were laughing so much that day. And just as I got down from the van,
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he asked, "Will you come to school tomorrow?"
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I smiled and said, "Yes." Then I started walking home.
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But just then, our driver uncle teased him out loud, :-
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"Ohooo, look at him asking if she'll come tomorrow or not. Something's fishy here!"
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Hearing that, I sprinted home like my life depended on it.
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But the next day? It never came.
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I never saw him again. I kept waiting in the van, staring at his school's gate, hoping he’d show up. But he never did.
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Not that I had much time to stay heartbroken—because soon, COVID-19 hit. And then came two years of vacations, TV, phone, and doing absolutely nothing.
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This is when my hormones woke up, my screaming at home increased, and, of course, so did the beatings from my parents. But by then, I had already become fearless.
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---
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I was shattered when I found out that I had to go to school to give my 9th-grade finals.
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It’s not like I hadn’t studied. In fact, I had studied my ass off—but only for Math. I hadn’t even touched the first page of any other subject. It was just Math, Math, and only Math. I spent my days in coaching, banging my head against numbers.
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But my coaching teacher? A total weirdo.
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A 60-year-old man, never married, and with eyes that always looked creepy. But I ignored it. I had bigger problems.
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My mind was so unstable that I couldn’t even write down the right questions properly. Even when I did, my wrong calculations somehow got the right answers. And when my teacher saw that, he straight-up said:
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"You’ll never achieve anything. At best, you’ll get a ₹60,000 job and do that for the rest of your life."
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That broke me. I burst into tears.
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And for the first time, he tried to comfort me.
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Of course, my Math was weak, and instead of teaching me from my class books, he made me solve higher-level Math that my brain couldn’t even process.
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But still, I managed to get 70% in 9th grade. And I was devastated.
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Because for the first time in my life, my marks were so low.
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And my parents? They were furious.
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They started talking about marriage, sending me to the village, and other nonsense. Hearing all that made my head explode.
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I was slipping into depression.
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The worst part? No one even asked if I was okay.
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I had studied so much, but my family never checked in. Never asked, "Are you understanding anything? Do you need help?" They just saw the final numbers and judged me.
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And honestly? After seeing my result, I wanted to crash my cycle into a truck and end it all
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I just couldn’t face the shame of such low marks.
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******
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8th part
So, I had just moved to a completely new place. Big changes were happening in my family too - my father had recently retired from the Air Force and taken up a job at the Central Bank. And for the first time ever, our family was going to live in Bihar - in a town called Siwan. We had always lived in well-managed societies before, so shifting to a town felt like stepping into a whole new world. It was July when we arrived, and I was about to begin my classes beyond 10th grade here. I knew this experience was going to be something completely different - unfamiliar, unexpected, and maybe even unforgettable.
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________________
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!!!! MY FIRST CHARACTER DISCRIPTION !!!!
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At fifteen, puberty had started to weave its quiet magic, and I could already feel the changes shaping me. I stood about 5'5" tall - around 165 cm - with a soft, curvy frame and a healthy weight of 55 kg. My thighs were thick, my body gently outlined, and my complexion was a fair, sun-kissed glow. My hair, straight and silky, fell just past my shoulders - a rich dark brown that shimmered warmly in sunlight but looked black indoors. But it was my eyes that everyone noticed first - deep, almond-shaped with a soft brown hue that seemed to hold stories. My lips, especially the lower one, were naturally plump, giving my face a gentle fullness that made me feel a little grown-up, a little mysterious.
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_____________
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My POV:-
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It was my first day at a new school-in a whole new town. And here I was, turning the entire house upside down...
All for a matching pair of red ribbons.
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I couldn't afford to look weird on Day One. Getting scolded was one thing-but being judged? No, thanks.
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Me: "Maa, I'm not going to school unless I find my red ribbons!"
Mamma: "You're going! You've already missed enough school because of the move. Tell the teachers it's your first day-they'll understand. But from tomorrow, no excuses."
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Great. Just perfect. That was it-my fate was sealed.
I tied my hair in a messy ponytail, grabbed my bag, and dragged myself into the car beside my little sister, Aashvi.
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We both sat quietly, watching the town's early morning chaos from the car window-horns blaring, people rushing, life moving fast.
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Then, my dad broke the silence.
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Papa: "From tomorrow, both of you will cycle to school. It's not far."
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Me: "At least give me two more days of peace!"
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Papa: "We don't have time for that. We've got house stuff to handle too. You're not a baby-we can't spoon-feed everything."
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Me (muttering): "Ugh... Fine. I'll go from tomorrow. Happy?"
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As we pulled up outside the school, I stepped out and stared at the building.
My heart sank.
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My POV: Oh my God... this place looks so weird. Kids are screaming like there's no such thing as discipline. What kind of school is this? What about the teachers-are they even serious? And the girls-what if they're gossip queens? Judgy and mean? And the boys... God, what if they're shameless and rude? Where on earth have I landed?
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Still lost in my storm of thoughts, I followed Papa into the building and to my new class. He pointed at the front seat.
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Papa: "Sit here. So the teacher can keep an eye on you."
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There was just one girl in the class. She looked at me for a second... and then silently went back to reading her book like I didn't exist.
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Papa walked over to her.
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Papa: "What's your name?"
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Her (softly): "Nikki."
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Papa: "This is a new admission. Help her out, okay?"
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Nikki: "Okay, Uncle."
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Then he left to drop off Aashvi upstairs to her own class on the second floor.
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My POV: Why is Nikki staring at me like I just stole something from her?
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Nikki (flatly): "You're sitting in my friend's seat. She's going to be really mad when she sees you here."
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Me: Fuckkk !! Seriously?! Now this bitch has decided to say this? She couldn't have brought this up before, when my dad was still here? Ugh, just perfect! Watch her throw
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me straight to the last bench now. Wow... what a fantastic start.
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9th part
Nikkie: "It’s fine for today—you can sit here. But from tomorrow, find another place, because I’m not sitting with you again."
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Me: "Alright… no problem." (Trying not to care)
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Nikkie : "Wanna go outside? It’s boring in here anyway."
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Me: "Yeah, let’s go…" (Still a little confused)
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As I stepped out of the classroom, my eyes caught the morning sun filtering through the trees. The school grounds were slowly coming to life, but I couldn’t help thinking—how do these kids have so much energy this early in the morning? Seriously, for me, not fainting during morning assembly is already an achievement.
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My gaze drifted toward the school gate, where a group of students walked in together, as if they all belonged to the same secret clan or something.
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Nikkie: "Look at them! Our classmates returning from morning coaching."
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Me: "Wait… what?? Morning coaching? It’s just 7:15! That means they must wake up super early!"
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Nikkie: "Yeah, it’s normal here. Lots of kids go to coaching early in the morning—and again in the evening. We ourselves wake up at 4 to study."
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My thoughts: Oh god. If Mom and Dad find out, they’ll put me in coaching too. I can barely wake up at 6, and these kids are already studying by 4? This is madness…
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As we stood there, I noticed a few students from her class staring at us—more specifically, at me and Nikkie together. She noticed too, but I pretended not to care. Let them stare.
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Suddenly, the school bell rang, calling everyone to line up for assembly. Nikkie grabbed my hand gently and led me toward the line.
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Nikkie: "This is where our class lines up."
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Because of my height, I had to stand at the back of the girls’ line. Honestly, I didn’t mind. I just wanted the assembly to be over so I could go sit peacefully in class.
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Just then, a tall figure walked by holding the class register. He paused, looking right at me.
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Sir: "Are you the new admission?"
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Me: "Yes, sir!" (I replied quickly, maybe too quickly.)
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My thoughts: Ohh… so he’s our class teacher. Doesn’t seem too strict. Looks kind, actually.
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Then a woman—strict-looking, sharp eyes—stepped closer.
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Ma’am: "Why do you have only one ponytail?"
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Me: "Um… Ma’am, I just moved here. It’s my first day. I’ll fix it from tomorrow. Sorry."
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Ma’am: "Alright. I’ll let it go for today."
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My thoughts: Ugh, why’d she have to say that out loud? Everyone was quietly standing and now all the boys nearby are staring at me like I’ve got antennas on my head or something.
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A few moments later, the principal began an important announcement—but I wasn’t really listening. The sun was too hot, the speech was too long, and I was too bored.
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I started gently kicking away the dust and tiny stones around my feet, letting my thoughts wander. When I glanced around, I noticed—no one was paying attention. Everyone looked half-asleep or distracted.
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That made me smile a little. Quietly. Secretly.
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But I wasn’t the only one smiling…
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Someone
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else had been watching me. And now he is smiling too
10 part
Let's meet our second main character ~
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Pranjal.
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He isn’t just another guy—he’s that guy. The kind who talks with such effortless charm that people can't help but laugh, blush, and fall just a little bit. A master of words, smooth with his lines, and even smoother with his smile. He can leave a lasting impression in one conversation flat—a true magician of first impressions.
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And the way he looks? Just as deadly.
Tall and athletic, the kind of height that makes heads turn and hearts skip. His wheatish skin glows under sunlight, but it’s the way his veins show—running strong along his arms and hands—that scream he plays, he trains, he dominates. A true sportsman, molded by motion.
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His eyebrows are sharp, perfectly shaped, like they were designed with intention. His eyes—deep, dark black—hold a storm inside them, intense enough to make anyone feel seen and exposed. And that long, pointed nose? It adds to his aura like a final stroke on a masterpiece.
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Now imagine this—thick thighs, soft curves, a full figure, confidently owning her body... slowly climbing over and sitting right on that breathtaking face of his. Oh, what a view—what a scene.
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And don’t even get started on his lips.
Pink, perfectly shaped, soft-looking but sinfully tempting. The kind that makes you stare and wonder—how do they feel? How do they taste?
And when he smiles?
God—his teeth are brighter than anyone’s future, lined up like they’ve been polished by the stars themselves.
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Then there’s his neck—veins peeking through, Adam’s apple bold and unapologetically suckable. Shoulders? Sculpted. Cut lines running across them like a map you want to trace with your fingers… or your tongue.
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Pranjal isn’t just a boy.
He’s a living artwork.
He’s trouble.
He’s temptation.
And most of all—he knows it.
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Pranjal:
"Man, when will this teacher's announcement end? It’s dragging on forever... I swear, if some girl fainted right now, it’d be the most exciting thing to happen!"
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He glances around, casually scanning the girls' row beside him.
And that's when he sees something new.
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Pranjal's POV:
“Damn... a new girl? And she’s gorgeous! But... why is she smiling like that?
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Something about it feels off. Ugh, maybe I’ve been, um... overdoing it lately? ( Of course Masturbation) I feel weak... dizzy... I—”
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Thud.
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Pranjal faints.........
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Pranjal's Friend:
"Bro, wake up! You always used to mock people for fainting... and now look at you!"
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Pranjal (groggy):
"I didn’t faint by myself. Someone did something to me..."
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His Friend:
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
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Pranjal:
"That new girl... she must be in class 10 or 11... dude, she’s so pretty. I think I just fell for her at first sight. For the first time ever, I didn’t want the assembly to end—I just wanted to keep staring at her."
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His Friend:
"You’ve completely lost it, man. It’s not even noon! Now hurry up, the teachers are asking about you."
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Pranjal:
"Ugh... fine." [rolls eyes]
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MY POV (Sanvi):
Well, that assembly was the worst it could possibly be. Now comes the horror of meeting every single teacher... Please don’t let the math teacher be evil. Just my luck if she is.
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Anyway, priority number one: scout the boys in class. Because honestly, if my long-distance boyfriend ditches me, I will find someone new. That relationship is practically running on WiFi signals and broken promises.
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But seriously, there’s someone I actually like... I’m going to give it my best shot.
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So far, everything seems alright. The teachers are decent.
Except for the math teacher. She looks like a walking equation of misery—strict, grumpy, and ancient.
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But oh well, lunch break is almost here—yay!
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LUNCH BREAK
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Pranjal:
"Bro, there she is! The one I was talking about!"
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His Friend:
"Way out of your league bro"
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Pranjal:
"Exactly what I thought... but what’s the harm in trying, right?"
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His Friend:
"Go ahead, Romeo. I’m watching."
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MY POV -
I was just heading to eat when my friend asked me to come with her to the staff room—she was too scared to go alone. There go my aloo parathas.
Finally, she finishes her task, and I lose 10 precious minutes of lunch. I rush to wash my hands so I can finally eat.
But that’s when we run into two clowns—my friend’s so-called "friends."
Though... one of them actually looked kinda handsome.
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So the four of us were now talking on the playground.
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My friend started talking to them. And oh my god, it was like watching a full-on roast battle—pure chaos, like they trained under Carry Minati.
I just stood there, laughing quietly, enjoying their banter.
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Then the handsome one spoke to me.
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The Handsome Boy:
“First time seeing you. You must be new here?”
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Me:
“Yeah, you're right. By the way, what’s your name?”
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Him:
“Pranjal.”
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Me:
“Ooh, nice name.”
(I don’t know why, but I genuinely enjoyed talking to him. I had a different kind of smile on my face—natural, not forced. And I noticed something... he was nervous. Kept looking down like he didn’t know what to do. It was... adorable.)
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Me:
“My name’s Sanvi. Which class are you in?”
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Pranjal:
“7th class”
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Sanvi’s Thoughts:
OUCH. Noooo. How is someone this handsome in class 7? If he were in class 9, I’d have proposed right then and there.
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Me (awkward laugh):
“Oh, 7th? My sister’s in your class! You might know her.”
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Pranjal:
“Yeah, she talks non-stop and jumps around like a monkey. Totally not like you.”
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Me (laughing):
“Well, I know that!”
“Okay, I should get going—gotta eat before lunch ends. See you around!”
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We all went back to our classes. Though, weirdly enough, Pranjal’s friends seemed happier than even he was.
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Pranjal’s Friend (teasing):
“Bro, you were trembling. Your face was priceless!”
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Pranjal:
“Hey! At least I talked to her. Try saying a word to your crush, then come talk to me!”
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His Friend:
“Aight, aight! Sorry, king!”
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POV
I came home exhausted. Ate, freshened up, and just crashed straight into bed.
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Mom:
“One day of school and you're already this tired?”
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Me (groaning):
“Mhm...”
And I dozed off again.
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---
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Sanvi POV (later):
I woke up to find the sun gone. Night already?!
Am I nocturnal now or what?!
Why am I sleeping like I’m on vacation?!
I tried to open my eyes while Mom kept scolding me.
“Mom, just five more minutes!”
But then I checked the time—FOUR HOURS!
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Nooooooo!
I thought it was still afternoon! There’s so much schoolwork left!
And the teachers said they’d check it too!
Goddess of Doom, take me now...
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*************
11th part
Sanvi’s POV -
The moment I rise from my royal slumber, I grab my magical tablet and summon the ancient scroll called Instagram. My fingers tremble with hope as I open the message realm to see... nothing. No sign. No smoke signal. No message from my so-called boyfriend for the past twenty days. The last time we spoke was after school ended, and ever since—crickets.
And there I am, like a love-struck court jester, sending him paragraph after paragraph like a poetic warrior. Yet—nothing. Silence. Darkness.
But do I give up? NEVER. I’m going to pour my heart and soul into this kingdom of love, no matter what.
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And as if my heartache wasn’t enough—here come the teachers! On the very first day, they decide to turn into homework-hunting goblins, demanding all my unfinished quests (a.k.a. assignments). These tyrants show no mercy!
Seriously, how many battles am I supposed to fight? My ghost-boyfriend doesn’t message me, my teachers are out for blood, and I’m only fifteen! This is not Hogwarts—it’s Horrorgwarts!
Anyway, I’ll do as much as I can... the rest? Destiny will decide. Let me breathe!
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Pranjal’s POV-
Oh, mighty heavens! Why am I grinning like a happy monkey since I talked to her? There’s just something about the way she speaks—so gently not any rudeness just smiling all the time . And yeah, she's adorable.
But I’m no fool. If I talk to her just once and vanish, she’ll forget me like a side character. Nope! I’ll have to remind her—again and again—that I exist, and I’m not just some random NPC in her life.
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And guess what? Her sister is in my class. Jackpot! I’ll charm the sister first. Win her over. Earn her trust. Then—boom! Ask for her divine elder sister’s Instagram. From there, my quest shall continue!
Also, maybe I should level up my looks... New hairstyle? Maybe some enchanted hair gel? I need to look like a prince, not a potato.
Ugh, this wait till tomorrow is unbearable. I need to see her again. One more glance at her face and I’ll be revived like a phoenix!
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Sanvi – The Next School Day
Oh. My. Dragon.
This place is worse than I imagined!
These girls aren’t interested in studies, friendship, or magic. All they do is gossip like enchanted parrots. And yes, I know they’re whispering about me. Why? Because I talked to boys. Boys, can you imagine?
They act like if a girl talks to a boy, they're immediately married, have a honeymoon booked, and a Netflix account is shared. Ridiculous. This kingdom has the worst mindset. No unity, no freedom—just judgment and drama.
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And as if my day couldn’t get worse—my holy, forgetful sister forgot her lunch. So now I, Lady Sanvi of the Second Floor, must deliver the royal lunch to her classroom like some medieval food courier.
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Bell rings ~
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Ah finally! Lunch break! The evil enchantress of the last period (a.k.a. our teacher) has ended her spellcasting.
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Sanvi enters Aashvi’s classroom
Why is everyone looking at me like I just descended from a golden chariot with a unicorn behind me? Chill, people. I’m not Ariana Grande—though thank you for the energy.
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Aashvi’s friend shouts from across the room
“Yo! Look! Aashvi’s sister is just like her—and SO cute!”
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Sanvi’s inner voice:
Yup. That’s me. The fabulous elder sister. The bringer of lunch. The misunderstood queen of this judgmental realm.
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POV – Aashvi
Aashvi sat with her arms crossed and an annoyed pout as her classmates couldn't stop complimenting her elder sister. "She’s so pretty!" "Looks just like you!" "So sweet!"
And there was Sanvi—baking in the praise like a sunflower in the sun, smiling endlessly and chatting with the younger students as if she were a royal guest in a fairytale Kingdom
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-----------
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But amidst all the cheerful chaos… there was someone else.
He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t blink.
He was frozen—like time itself had stopped-
He was busy watching only her. Sanvi.
------------
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Sanvi: "Alright, Aashvi. Take this. I’m going now—I’m starving."
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Aashvi (grumbling): "Yeah yeah, just leave already. Ugh, why did I forget my lunch today? Never again, I swear..."
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Sanvi (laughing): "Fine, I’m going, drama queen."
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POV – Just as Sanvi turned to leave the classroom…
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A voice called from behind, soft but clear, like the flutter of a letter sliding under a door.
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Pranjal: "Hi... remember me? We spoke yesterday."
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Sanvi (turning, curious): "Yeah, I remember. What’s up? Something you need?"
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Pranjal (nervously): "Umm… just wanted to ask if you use Instagram. Thought maybe we could chat there, sometimes."
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Sanvi (smirking): "Oh, that’s all? Sure, I’ll give you my ID. But where do I write it?"
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Pranjal (pulling out a notebook): "I have a pen! Wait, let me tear a page—"
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Sanvi (stopping him): "No need to waste paper just for that. Give me your hand—I’ll write it there."
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POV –
Sanvi reached forward and gently took his left hand, pulling it a little closer to her.
A sweet smile played on her lips as she began writing her Instagram handle on his palm—each letter like a spark, each touch a whisper.
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Pranjal’s POV
Oh no. Dear Lord. Had I known she’d get THIS close, I would’ve bathed in rose water and sprayed half a bottle of perfume.
Why are my palms sweating like I’ve just fought a dragon? What must she be thinking? That I’m some human sponge?
Please, please, don’t let me smell weird right now... not in this sacred moment...
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Sanvi (pulling back, still smiling): "Alright, it’s done. I’m off now—bye!"
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Pranjal (dazed): "Y-Yeah... thank you. Bye!"
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---
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POV –
As soon as Sanvi exited the classroom, Pranjal nearly leapt into the air like a knight who just pulled Excalibur from stone.
He ran to his friends, hand outstretched like it held a royal scroll, proudly showing the glowing letters of her ID as if he’d just won the Noble Prize of Love.
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For him, this wasn’t just
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a moment—it was victory. A triumph in the first battle.
But the war had just begun.
Next step?
Win her heart.
12 part
POV
Here stands Pranjal, basking in the illusion that everything is going just as he had hoped.
He believes he’s made a bold move, that fate has finally started favouring him.
But little does he know—destiny had other plans.
Cruel, unpredictable plans.
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Sanvi’s POV-
“Hmm... I’ll accept his request later.
First, some food… maybe a nap too.
Anyway, I need to study—term exams are approaching like a storm.”
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She scrolls lazily through her phone, unaffected… unaware of the storm brewing on the other side of the screen.
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---
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Meanwhile… Pranjal
“I really thought she’d accept it right after school…
But it’s been hours. Still nothing.
I didn’t even eat—too caught up in this rush, this excitement… thinking, finally, we’ll talk.
But no worries. I’m not giving up.
I’ll wait. Even if it takes all night.”
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His stomach growls, but his heart makes more noise.
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---
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Sanvi’s POV-
“Ugh, I’m just trying to sleep, but peace is a myth.
Let me just accept his request real quick… if it’s even there.
And the
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n check his messages. Finally.”
13th part
Sanvi -
"Okay, what is going on?! This women hasn’t texted me in WEEKS and today, out of the blue, she wants to ‘talk’? Did she hit her head or what?"
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Prapti (her savage city bestie):
"Girl… are you even okay? I mean, how’s your long-distance prince charming doing?
'Cause ever since you left, your so-called loyal Romeo has been out here creating full-on Bollywood drama at school."
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Sanvi (POV, internally combusting) -
“Whaaaat the actual hell?! I just spoke to him! He said everything’s fine! Why would he hide this? I swear if this is a prank—I'm flipping a table.”
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---
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Sanvi -
"I mean, I’m fine… I guess. I actually talked to Abhishek today. He said everything’s good.
Yeah, we hadn’t spoken in, like, a month—but he told me he didn’t have his phone 'cause of his dad and he was trying to 'give me time'. So…"
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Prapti -
"TIME?! Girl, he’s not giving you time, he’s giving you LIES.
That boy’s out here skipping class, arguing with teachers like he’s on a debate team, forming fight clubs with the boys, and chillin’ at the basketball court every evening like LeBron.
And guess what? With his phone.
You sure he’s dating you and not his phone?"
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Sanvi (soul shattered, knees weak, brain buffering):
"...I think... I need to confront him. Like, what even is this mess?"
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Prapti (zero sugarcoat mode):
"Girl, are you dumb or just in denial? He won’t tell you the truth!
Ask anyone in our class—he’s been wildin’.
You don’t fall in love overnight, but you definitely fell for the wrong one.
I’m not trying to be mean, but your taste in guys needs therapy."
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Sanvi:
"Okay okay, I’m done. No more texts to Abhishek. I'm going full FBI mode now. Thanks for the heads-up. Bye!"
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---
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POV~
Sanvi becomes Sherlock Holmes.
She messages classmates.
She even interrogates Abhishek’s so-called “bros.”
And the jury is unanimous:
“He’s lying. And yes, everything you heard... is painfully true.”
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Cut to:
Sanvi—phone in one hand, heartbreak in the other—texts Abhishek, spills the tea, BLOCKS him like a boss,
Then collapses on her bed and cries like she’s the lead in a sad music video.
Cue the emotional montage:
“Tears on my pillow, betrayal in my soul…”
She cries. She sniffs. She sobs herself to sleep.
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---
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Next morning, at school…~
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Sanvi (in her head)-
"From now on, no trust. ZERO. Boys? Same species, same lies.
Today, if anyone messes with me, I’ll destroy them emotionally.
And no, I’m not dramatic. I’m traumatized."
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Just then—drumroll please—someone calls her from behind...
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---
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Pranjal (teasing, clown energy)
"Yo, why do your eyes look like you got into a fight with your sleep schedule? Puffy much?"
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Sanvi (laser beam eyes, zero chill) -
"It’s not from sleep, dumbass. It’s from crying."
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Pranjal (still joking) -
"What, forgot to do homework? Don’t worry, I got you."
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Sanvi (dead serious) -
"It’s not homework, genius. It’s my boyfriend. Or… ex-boyfriend now."
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Pranjal (internal system crash)
"Wait... you had a boyfriend? Well... not anymore, I guess."
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Sanvi -
"Yeah. We broke up yesterday. The guy was cheating on me. Kind of. No, actually, fully."
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Pranjal (trying not to scream with happiness) -
"Oh... I mean… wow. That’s... horrible. So, so bad. Tragic."
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Sanvi -
"Don’t sprinkle salt on my wounds, okay? Talk to me later. Bye."
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Pranjal (walking away like he just won the lottery) -
"Sure, sure. Bye... (THANK YOU, UNIVERSE! BLESS UP!)"
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14 part
SANVI'S POV ~
Okay, universe. Plot twist time.
I'm officially free. No more emotional chains, no more "Do I text him or not?" drama.
Now? Now I can talk to whoever I want, best friend whoever I vibe with, and yes-maybe even recruit a male best friend.
One heartbreak out, a whole lineup of possibilities in.
So instead of sulking like a background character, maybe it's time I grabbed a lead role... starting with these chaos goblins around me.
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---
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POV
It was one of those glorious free periods-no teachers, no rules, just pure teenage zoo mode.
The classroom? A full-blown jungle. Lions roaring (aka gossip queens yelling), monkeys swinging (aka the boys jumping on desks), and one corner? That was a whole arena.
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The noise coming from there? Dangerous. Intense.
Like someone was gambling their soul away.
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Plot twist: They weren't betting money.
They were flipping water bottles.
Welcome to 10th grade, where your entire reputation can hang on a plastic bottle's landing.
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SANVI'S POV
Okay, what is this crowd? Are all these 6-foot human lampposts from my class? I can't see anything but elbows and egos.
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But this? This chaos?
This is my moment.
I might suck at bottle flipping, but hey-drama deserves a shot.
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Sanvi: "Hey, can I try once?"
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Tall Guy: (doesn't even blink, just flips the bottle like he's in the Olympics)
Thud. Bottle lands perfectly.
Cheers erupt like he just won a Nobel Prize.
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Sanvi: "Wow. Okay, bottle-flip king, can I get one shot at it too?"
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Tall Guy: (still ignoring her like she's invisible WiFi) flips again.
Another perfect landing.
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The crowd goes: "OHHHHH!!"
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Sanvi (super annoyed now): "Okay, seriously? One chance. It's not like I asked for your throne."
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The next flip?
He misses.
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Tall Guy: (annoyed) "Wow. You couldn't see I was in the zone?
Whatever. Here. Try if you must."
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Sanvi: (grabs the bottle like it's Excalibur) "Gladly."
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She flips.
FAIL. The bottle tumbles.
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Suddenly it's like she murdered the vibe. Everyone stares. Dead silent.
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Tall Guy: (laughs with villain energy) "All that begging... for this?"
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Sanvi: "It's my first time, okay? Not everyone's born with wrist magic."
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Tall Guy: "Hmm. Okay. Try again. Let's see if beginner's luck is feeling generous."
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---
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POV ~
And bam, she's the center of the stage.
Spotlight? On.
Background music? Probably Billie Eilish with dramatic bass.
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She flips again.
Perfect landing.
Whispers stop. Eyebrows rise.
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Tall Guy: "Okay. Fluke. Do it three times. Then I'll consider being impressed."
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Sanvi: (cracks knuckles like a Marvel character) "Bring it on."
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One.
Stands.
Two.
Clean.
Three.
Chef's kiss.
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The crowd? SCREAMING internally. Eyeballs popping. Mouths open.
Even the gossip girls stop mid-convo.
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Tall Guy: (grinning) "Okay, okay. I admit defeat. I'm Harsh, by the way." (offers a smile that could melt glaciers)
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Sanvi: "Nice to meet you. I'm Sanvi. Thanks for the bottle... and the attitude."
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Harsh: "Yeah, I know. New admission. Already got half the teachers eating out of your hand."
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Sanvi: "Or maybe they just appreciate vibes and intelligence."
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Harsh: "Hey, I never said that. That's the class talking."
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Sanvi: "Oh? And what about you, Mr. Flip-Flop? What's your opinion?"
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---
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POV
And that, my friends, is how Sanvi turned a water bottle flip into a full-on friendship origin story.
First day, first battle, first spark.
They swapped numbers faster than notes before an exam.
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And when Sanvi opened up about her ex and the emotional baggage she'd been dragging behind her-Harsh didn't flinch.
He listened.
No judgment. No pity.
Just straight-up support.
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A.k.a. your local unpaid therapist in sneakers.
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Harsh characters ~
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Now, Harsh... he wasn't the kind of guy you'd spot across the hallway and instantly fall head over heels for.
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He was tall-awkwardly tall-the kind of tall that made him look like he'd been stretched a few inches too far by some cosmic prank. And thin too. Like really thin. Like his bones were sketched in fine ink and his skin just barely remembered to show up. From a distance, you might've mistaken him for just another lanky kid blending into the chaos of adolescence.
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But then-there was something.
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Something... strange.
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He walked with a slight hunch, as if he was always carrying some invisible weight on his back. A shadow of burden-or maybe just years of slouching in front of a chessboard. The way his spine curved when he moved almost gave him a phantom-like silhouette. A creature half in this world, half in a world of calculations and quiet obsessions.
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His skin was a soft, dusky brown-earth-toned, grounded, real.
His jawline? Sharper than most people's thoughts.
And his arms, though skinny, were a map of veins-visible, crawling like lightning beneath the surface. Not from strength, but from emptiness. A skeleton with a heartbeat.
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But don't let appearances fool you.
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Because when it came to chess, he was an assassin. Calculated, ruthless, unbothered. His hands moved with a kind of silent intensity, eyes locked in that "don't talk to me unless you speak in moves and checkmates" stare. On the board, he wasn't lanky, or awkward, or even human-he was a storm.
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And in class?
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Especially in maths-
Harsh wasn't just "good." He was that kid who solved a problem before the teacher even finished reading it out loud. The kind of genius that didn't show off but radiated through every scrawled number and smirk of understanding. His brain worked like gears in a locked vault-silent, smooth, and impossible to crack.
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No, he wasn't the obvious heartthrob.
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But there was a strange magnetism about him.
A qui
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et storm. A hidden brilliance.
A boy who bent under his own mystery...
...and still managed to stand tall.
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*************
15 part
POV -
Sanvi had finally — and I mean finally — moved on from Abhishek. No more sad playlists. No more late-night crying. No more stalking his profile just to feel something.
And honestly? The whole healing arc was sponsored by Harsh — and a supportive environment that felt like the emotional Avengers came together for one mission: Get. Her. Over. That. Loser.
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Meanwhile, Pranjal?
This dude was still acting like a loyal golden retriever in her DMs. Always online, replying within 0.0001 seconds, having those "non-stop deep convos at 11 PM" energy.
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Sanvi started to feel weird. Like… Was he into her?
She raised an eyebrow, shrugged it off and thought,
"Why would a 7th grader fall in love with a 10th grader?"
And that… ladies and gentlemen, was her greatest miscalculation.
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---
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Scene opens: Class 10, second period. Chaos. Laughter. Then—
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Sanvi (yanking Harsh’s hair like a Netflix villainess on her villain arc):
“If you ever call me ‘Momo’ again, I swear you’ll leave this class bald!”
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Harsh (howling in pain, clutching his head like he's in a telenovela):
“Okay okay! No more Momo! But how about… Mini Malaysia? Sounds international, right?”
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Sanvi (pulling harder, with the rage of a thousand suns):
“You dense donkey! Why do you NEVER listen the first time?!”
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Harsh (grinning through the pain):
“Well… you do look like a steamed momo. Puffy cheeks, soft face, eyebrows playing hide and seek… hehe.”
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Sanvi (smacks him so hard he sees next week):
“And you look like a discount Voldemort! Bald vibes, weird nose — what even are you?!”
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---
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Cut to ~
The Entire Class, frozen. Watching this like it's the final scene of a K-drama.
Not a word. Not a breath. Just waiting for the confession that may or may not come.
Popcorn was the only thing missing.
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Most of them already shipped these two like they were Ross and Rachel, minus the break.
And both Harsh and Sanvi knew it.
Did they care? Nope.
Too busy being in their own chaotic best-friends-to-maybe-lovers-but-denying-it universe.
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Sanvi (grinning, mock serious):
“Okay, fine. Spill it. Who’s your crush? Don’t act like you’re the hottest thing in class.”
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Harsh:
“Alright alright… but don’t judge me, okay?”
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Sanvi:
“I swear I won’t judge you… or your terrible taste.”
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Harsh:
“No no, not me. Just don’t trash talk her. Especially when you people be out here saying ‘I love you’ in 24 hours and dragging people into long-distance relationships like it's Gmail login.”
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Sanvi (delivers a divine smack to the back of his head):
“Say one more word about him and I’ll make sure you go bald faster than your Wi-Fi disconnects. Spill it.”
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Harsh (mumbles dramatically):
“…Pragya.”
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Sanvi (gasps like she just saw her ex with someone hotter):
“EEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!!”
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Harsh (hurt, defeated):
“See? THIS is why I didn’t want to say it!”
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Sanvi (laughing so hard she almost cries):
“You’re telling me, out of ALL the girls in this class — you fell for Queen Ego herself?! The one who walks around like her perfume is made of money and everyone else is just background noise?!”
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Harsh:
“Okay okay, I know she’s got issues. But maybe… she’s different when you get to know her?”
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Sanvi:
“Dude. No. Be honest. What’s the real reason?”
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Harsh (leans closer, like he’s confessing a dark secret):
“…Her boobs. Perfect. Round. The curves? 10/10. I’m betting 36.”
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Sanvi (mouth wide open, full dramatic pause):
“You disgusting disciple of lust! You don’t look at a person’s curves — you look at their character!”
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Harsh:
“Bro, I know that… but I want the whole package, okay?”
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Sanvi (dead serious):
“I’m hotter than her, personality AND looks. Facts.”
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Harsh (shrugs):
“Sorry, but when it comes to boobs, she’s got the upper hand.”
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Sanvi (SCREAMING):
“WAIT. You were checking out MY BOOBS too?!”
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Harsh (laughing like a villain who's been caught mid-prank):
“Relax! I said pimples, not boobs! Chill, drama queen!”
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Sanvi (gasps like she’s been personally attacked):
“You mutt! For your information — I’m a size 32, okay? Yeah, maybe they’re not huge, but they’re flawless. No pimples. ZERO acne. Clear skin, baby!”
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(dramatic hair flip)
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“And let me educate you real quick — I’ve got medium-sized boobs, a snatched waist, and thick thighs that most people would KILL for.
Unlike your so-called ‘crush’... and frankly, unlike most girls out there.”
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(cue background applause from the imaginary hype squad)
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Harsh (throwing his hands up in surrender):
“Fighting with Miss Perfect is pointless. I accept defeat… once again.”
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Sanvi (grinning like the queen she is):
“I know. I’m always right. And obviously — beautiful. Hehehe.”
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(Cue freeze frame, narrator voice)
Narrator:
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"And that’s how Sanvi won yet another argument — with confidence, curves, and chaos."
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***************
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16th part
Authors POV ~
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Today, the sun shone a little brighter, the birds chirped a bit louder, and Sanvi... Sanvi was floating on cloud nine. Why, you ask? Because today, she was escaping the prison known as school and heading straight to her Dadi's Kingdom. Freedom, finally!
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No more alarms screaming at dawn. No more boring lectures. No more waking up like a zombie.
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Now, it was time for sleep-ins, junk food, gossip, and that one thing no school could ever offer - pure, unfiltered cousin chaos. Even if it was just for a week, Sanvi was ready to live like a queen.
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But then entered... Harsh the Horrible.
Sanvi (rolling eyes): "Can't this boy let me enjoy peace? Every day it's like a news bulletin-
'Today in class we did this, and oh the teachers are going crazy with homework!'
Bro, when I was in school, the teachers barely showed up. Now they've all turned into Oppenheimer of the blackboard."
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And if Harsh was the background noise, Pranjal was the full-blown glitch in the matrix.
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Sanvi (facepalming dramatically): "I mean... how can someone text so much? And why is he so curious about what I like? What kind of guys I like?? I swear he's acting like he's going to marry me off or something!"
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(Whispers to herself): "Wait... what if this guy is planning to be the guy? Oof. Sanvi, girl, keep your chakras aligned."
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And then - boom - a reel notification.
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Pranjal had sent her something. She didn't even bother watching it at first. I just liked it. You know, basic politeness. But then she saw his message-
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Pranjal: "Nothing serious, I just liked the vibe so I sent it."
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Now, curiosity danced on her shoulders like a mischievous pixie.
"Fine," she sighed, "let me see what the big deal is..."
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She tapped play - and bam!
A guy was singing on stage like it was his last breath. The lyrics hit her like a magical spell:
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The song lyrics ~
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It happened one day while I drifted in class,
Eyes half-shut, letting the lazy minutes pass.
Then she walked in - that tenth-grade queen,
Sat next to me, like a dream unseen.
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One glance at her, my breath took flight,
The heart raced faster, the mind felt light.
I forgot my age, forgot my name,
An eighth-grade boy caught in love's sweet flame.
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But even back then, I had some art,
Liked older girls, had a clever heart.
I wasn't loud, but my words would stay,
With meaning deep, in a quiet way.
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.................
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Sanvi was hooked.
She watched it once.
Then again.
And again.
And maybe eight more times. Okay, maybe ten. Whatever. Who's counting?
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The smile that danced on her lips said it all. She wasn't confused anymore. Something inside her had clicked.
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Sanvi messaged back:
"Honestly, I liked the lyrics. And I feel like you're lowkey confessing something through this reel."
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Pranjal (panic mode activated):
"Nooo no, not at all! I just liked the lyrics! Nothing personal!"
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Sanvi (laughing but pretending to be chill):
"Okay okay, whatever. Not thinking too hard about it."
(Narrator: she was absolutely going to overthink this now.)
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Then came the plot twist.
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Pranjal: "Umm... can I ask you something? Please don't mind?"
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Sanvi (curious goblin mode): "Sure, go ahead."
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Pranjal: "Do you... watch porn?"
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Sanvi (channeling her inner baddie goddess):
"Yeah, loads of times. Why? Got a problem?"
(A total lie. She just wanted to sound cool and mysterious.)
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Pranjal (mind blown, soul exited the body):
"Wait WHAT?! You look so innocent though??"
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Sanvi (evil grin level 100):
"Ever heard of 'Don't judge a book by its cover'? Sweetheart, it's always the cutest ones."
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Pranjal (still recovering): "O-oh... okay. So you just watch or... you know... do stuff too? Like fingering or rubbing? Sorry if that was too much."
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Sanvi (with full dramatic flair and a flick of invisible hair):
"Oh no baby, I don't do that... I use a vibrator. Full power mode. Once I turn it on, even my bed starts shaking like it's ascending to heaven. Took me 40 minutes to cum the first time."
(She was lying again. But hey, commitment to character is important.)
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Message seen.
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Silence.
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Nothing from Pranjal.
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Sanvi looked at her phone and burst out laughing, clutching her stomach like she'd just watched a stand-up show.
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Sanvi (laughing to herself):
"Oh my god, I've traumatized this poor 7th-grade soul. He's never going to talk to me again. He'll probably avoid me in school too. Welp, anyway, time to pack. I've got a train to catch. His face tomorrow at school is going to be golden."
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Meanwhile, somewhere far away, Pranjal's POV was having a romantic meltdown:
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Pranjal (in his own dramatic monologue):
"Broooo I'm officially in love. Like- how is she so COOL?? She's into the same naughty stuff I am... and she's so chill about it! I can't hold this in anymore. I need to tell her. I need to TELL HER TODAY. Enough playing Mr. Nice Friend. If I wait longer, someone else will steal her!"
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One hour later...
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Pranjal: "Hey... can we talk? I really need to tell you something."
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Sanvi (with raised eyebrows): "Umm... can we do that later? I'm heading to Siwan now. Didn't expect you to text again so soon, honestly."
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Pranjal: "Oh... no worries. Can we talk tonight then?"
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Sanvi: "Hmm maybe by 11 I'll be online. Ok
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ay then. Bye!"
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Pranjal: "Okay, I'll wait. Safe journey!"
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Sanvi: "As you wish. Bye."
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_______________
17th part
POV ~
The train of exhaustion tugged at Sanvi’s every breath as she stepped foot into Siwan, finally home after an endless eight-hour journey. Her bones felt like lead, her eyes heavy with sleep, her body begging for rest. The soft murmurs of her family faded into the background, like echoes from a dream. She wanted nothing more than to melt into her bed and disappear into slumber.
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But then—
A flicker of memory.
A promise.
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Her fingers brushed against her phone, and her heart dropped a little.
“I’ll be there by 11,” she had said.
She checked the time.
11:30 PM.
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He must have waited…
She closed her eyes. Maybe it’s too late. Maybe I shouldn’t message him now. How long can someone really wait?
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But a strange guilt twisted inside her chest.
Not just guilt… longing.
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And so, with half-closed eyes, barely awake and entirely dreamlike, Sanvi typed a message.
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11:40 PM
Sanvi (zombie mode, sleep-drenched voice):
“Hey, I’m here now. Tell me fast, what did you want to talk about?”
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---
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Far away, on the other end of a screen, sat Pranjal.
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For forty long minutes, he had stared at his phone like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Hope flickered and faded, flickered and faded, again and again. But he hadn’t moved.
He hadn’t blinked.
Because somewhere in his heart, he knew… she would come.
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And then—she did.
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Pranjal (soft, almost whispering to himself):
“I’m here… I didn’t go anywhere. I was waiting—for you. It’s okay that you’re late.”
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Sanvi:
“Yeah… sorry. I’m barely awake, so please just tell me what this is all about.”
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There was silence.
A breath held.
And then—he spoke his truth.
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Pranjal:
“I… I fell in love with you the very first day I saw you. That morning in the school assembly—when you smiled—it felt like the world tilted just for me. Since that moment, it’s always been you.
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I know I’m younger than you. Three years. But I don’t care anymore. I’ll grow. I’ll fight. I’ll become everything you need and more.
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And even if you say no—even if you break my heart—I’ll never regret falling for you. You’ll still be the one who lit up my world.
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I just need to know—
Do I even have a chance?”
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---
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For Sanvi, the world stilled.
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The exhaustion she’d carried like a storm in her bones vanished. Sleep abandoned her. Her heartbeat echoed louder than her thoughts.
He said it.
He actually said it.
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Part of her had always suspected. A glance here. A smile there.
But hearing it—feeling the raw truth of it—was something else entirely.
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Sanvi (heart pounding):
“I… I knew you liked me. And honestly? I’ve got to hand it to you—the way you plan everything, the effort you put in… it’s impressive. Seriously.”
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Pranjal (barely breathing):
“Then tell me. Please. What’s your answer?”
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She hesitated.
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Sanvi’s POV –
He’s not lacking anything. He’s kind. Sweet. Honest. Yeah, the age thing might seem weird—but who really cares?
Maybe… maybe being with him won’t be such a bad idea.
Maybe I’ll finally know what it’s like to fall, to feel, to live.
And maybe—just maybe—it’ll be better than being alone.
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So she let the words fall, not from her heart, but from that fragile place between curiosity and courage.
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Sanvi:
“Okay… I’m ready to be in a relationship with you.”
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---
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Silence.
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And then, light.
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Pranjal (voice trembling with joy):
“You… you mean it? Thank you—thank you so much.
I love you.”
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Sanvi (smiling to herself, softly, without thinking):
“I love you too…”
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(A sentence said like a girl caught in a moment—without deep feelings, but with a strange, giddy sweetness she didn’t quite understand.)
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And just then—
The clock struck 12:00 AM.
Midnight.
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The exact moment when yesterday turned to today.
When one story ended, and another began.
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A whisper of fate.
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A silent promise.
Two hearts stepping into the unknown, together.
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************
18 part
[INT. NIGHT – SANVI’S BEDROOM – 2:13 AM]
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The screen is dimly lit by the soft blue glow of Sanvi’s phone. Her fingers move fast, eyes sparkling, cheeks warm with blush as her texts keep coming and coming. Pranjal’s name glows at the top of the chat. They’ve been talking for over two hours straight—and for the first time, Sanvi doesn’t want it to stop.
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Sanvi -
I don’t know what’s happening to me.
It’s not boring.
He’s not boring.
And suddenly, this doesn’t feel like a waste of time.
It feels like… something more.
Something I didn’t know I wanted until now.
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PRANJAL (text):
"Sanvi, I don’t think I can just talk anymore.
I need something… more."
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Sanvi blinks.
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SANVI (text):
"More? Like what? A voice note? A song?
If you want that, I’m sorry—everyone’s asleep.
I can’t risk waking mom and dad.
They’ll lose it."
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PRANJAL (typing... then sends):
"No… not that.
I want nudes.
Whatever you can give me. Now."
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The music slows. A soft, haunting beat rises. Sanvi freezes. Her face stunned as she opens another tab—typing in ‘nudes’ like it’s the key to a new universe.
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Sanvi -
He… what?
He’s in 7th grade and he’s asking for nudes?
I didn’t even know what that meant ten minutes ago.
And he’s already this deep?
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SANVI (text):
"I’m sorry, I can’t do that.
If that’s what you want, go find someone else.
I’m not that girl."
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PRANJAL (text):
"Wow.
So you don’t love me then?
Because if you did… you’d trust me.
Other girls do it in relationships—it’s about trust.
But clearly, you don’t have that in me.
You think I’ll leak them?
I’m not some random creep, Sanvi.
I love you."
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Sanvi grips her phone tighter. Her thumb hovers over the screen. Her heart is thudding so loud it’s all she can hear.
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Sanvi -
Is this what love is supposed to be?
Am I supposed to prove it like this?
Why does it feel so wrong… but also like I’ll lose him if I say no?
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SANVI (text):
"It’s not about trust.
It just… gives me anxiety. I get really shy."
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PRANJAL (text):
"Shy? With me?
You’re mine, Sanvi.
I love you. Please… just once.
I won’t ask again."
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There’s a long pause.
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Sanvi -
He said please.
He said I’m his.
So why does it feel like I’m losing a part of myself, not giving it?
But maybe this is what showing love looks like.
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She stands up. The soft fabric of her oversized T-shirt falls to the floor. The screen fades to black for a moment—leaving only sound. The buzz of a flashlight. The quiet click of a photo being taken.
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She sends it. No face. Just a collarbone. A shadow of skin, wrapped in hesitation and fear.
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[CUT TO: PRANJAL – HIS ROOM – 1:29 AM]
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He’s already breathless, desperate, hand hovering over himself. He is already rubbing his dick so fast and pressing his pink mushroom like bud by his thumb for more sensation in his body. He is making him self hard as he can . He just wanted to cum so badly with pleasure. Eyes locked on the screen like he’s waiting for salvation.
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Ping.
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He opens the message.
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Zooms in.
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Zooms out.
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Blank stare.
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Pranjal -
What the hell is this?
I asked for a dream, and she sent me… a neck?
This isn’t sexy. This is… PG-13 disappointment.
Even my dick gave up.
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PRANJAL (text):
"You better delete that pic fast.
Don’t worry—I won’t screenshot."
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(screenshot captured with a loud click)
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Pranjal -
I don't want the Great Wall of China with some deep grooves in it . God, help me. ( Completely disappointed )
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SANVI (text):
"I sent it with so much courage and you’re still judging?
I’m done.
Going to bed. I’ve got school tomorrow."
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PRANJAL (text):
"Wait, wait—I was kidding.
You’re brave. Seriously. I didn’t mean it like that.
Goodnight.
See you at school."
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SANVI (text):
"Goodnight.
Sweet dreams.
Take care.
I love you."
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PRANJAL (likes each message, one by one. Then replies):
"I love you too."
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Sanvi -
It could’ve gone on longer.
But I stopped it.
Because now I know…
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He’s going to be using porn for a while.
And he’ll keep trying.
Trying to pull me
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back into something I’m not ready for.
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But maybe I needed tonight… to know what love shouldn’t feel like.
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************
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